Revisiting the Question of Books I "Should" Read

On occasion (most recently, 11/23/13) I have written here about struggling with whether to read certain books that I feel I “should” read but don’t really want to. These are books that are within the types of books I usually read, are by major authors, and have gotten excellent reviews. And once in a while, someone who knows how much I read, and/or who reads this blog, seems surprised when I have not read a particular one of those books. A recent specific example is my decision not to read Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch” (see my post of 11/10/13). But in the past couple of weeks, I have been reading critics’ end-of-the-year “best books” lists, which lists I compulsively devour, but which also raise complicated feelings in me. I have come to see that there are three kinds of books on these "best of the year" lists (from my perspective). First are books I see on the lists and am happy because I have already read and admired and/or enjoyed them. Examples of this category from the current lists include Meg Wolitzer’s “The Interestings”; Claire Messud’s “The Woman Upstairs”; Kate Atkinson’s “Life after Life”; Adelle Waldman’s “The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P.”; Jhumpa Lahiri’s “The Lowland”; and Jo Baker’s “Longbourn.” Second are books that may well be “good,” but are so clearly not the kind of books I read (e.g., science fiction, very experimental or very violent novels) that I have no trouble at all deciding not to read them. But the third category is the difficult one. This includes books of the types and categories, and by the authors, that I usually do read. I believe that they are good, even perhaps great, but for some reason I am not drawn to them, and have decided earlier not to read them. In some cases, I decided right away not to read them; in other cases, I obtained copies of the books, but stopped reading after a brief perusal. So the books in the first two categories give me no problem, but those in the third category sometimes continue to tug at me, and seeing some of the titles repeatedly on these lists, often by critics I respect, exacerbates my sense of unease. Did I decide wrong? Am I missing an important book that I really SHOULD read? On the other hand, what about my decision, as I get older, to only read what I really want to read, and not waste time on the “shoulds”? So there is the conflict. My most recent decision (wimpy compromise?), made just a few days ago, was to look through some of those “best books of 2013” lists and make my own list of books that I initially rejected but now will reconsider. I may not read all of them, but I will at least give them another try.

Better Late Than Never: Experiencing the End of the Beat Era

A couple of recent articles about the poet Michael McClure made me feel sad that I was not in San Francisco at the height of the beat era. The famous reading at the Six Gallery in 1955 started it all. I didn’t move to San Francisco until some 20 years later, but I did in fact hear some of the great beat poets. In college, before I came to San Francisco, I was fortunate to hear Gary Snyder read his poetry. Then very soon after I arrived in SF, I went to a poetry reading by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Diane Di Prima, William Everson (also known as Brother Antoninus) and others. Most dramatically, sometime in the 1980s, I heard Alan Ginsberg read at the University of San Francisco, where I teach. That was a more conservative time at USF, and the audience was, I think, half respectful of and half shocked by his poetry’s frank mention of, among other topics, his bodily parts and functions, all read in Ginsberg’s roaring voice that echoed up and down the corridors of the university building. I have also, of course, been to the City Lights bookstore many times. In 2010 I went to see the movie “Howl” about Ginsberg’s most famous poem and the legal case that followed; I posted about that experience here on 10/3/10. So I feel I did have some personal experience of the beat poets after all, even if my experiences were at the very tail end of (and beyond) the Beat era.

Young Writer Discovers Barbara Pym, Makes Blogger Very Happy!

I hope this post won’t be “too much Barbara Pym” for readers, as I have mentioned her wonderful novels several times, and especially wrote about her work on 7/7/13 and on 8/13/13. But I was so pleased when I saw, in the 1/5/14 issue of The New York Times Book Review “Inside the List” column, a short but glowing tribute to Barbara Pym by the young female Nigerian-born author Chimamanda Adichie (author of “Americanah”) that I felt I had to write about it. The columnist, Gregory Cowles, asked the authors of the NYTBR’s “10 Best Books of 2013” to name “the best book you read this year (whether it was published in 2013 or not).” Adichie responded enthusiastically as follows: “I discovered Barbara Pym’s ‘A Glass of Blessings’ this year and could not believe I had never read Pym. I loved it. It does that ancient, wonderful thing literature is supposed to do: instruct and delight. Pym is brilliant…very witty and very funny and very insightful, and…somehow manages to be both prim and subversive.” I loved Adichie's response, as she – especially in that last line about “both prim and subversive” -- gets at something unique in Pym’s work. I am also excited to learn of a young author (Adichie is in her thirties) discovering Pym; I am so glad that this younger generation continues to read and appreciate Pym, and I hope that they will continue to do so for many years to come.

"The Grammarian," by Annapurna Potluri

My heart beat a little faster when I found, browsing in the library new books section, a novel I had read no reviews of, but that called out to me because it focused on a linguist studying Telegu in South India about a hundred years ago. First, I am an (applied) linguist, and enjoyed the descriptions of the language. Second, Telegu is the language my family and I learned and spoke when we were in India, and the area where the main character, the French Alexandre, did his research was in Andhra Pradesh, where we lived much of our time in India. The names of the cities, districts, rivers were so familiar. And although I have, alas, long ago forgotten most of the Telegu I knew (I very occasionally dream a few words of it...), I did recognize some words mentioned in this book. So this novel, “The Grammarian” (Counterpoint, 2013), by Annapurna Potluri, despite the different time period and other differences, took me back to my childhood and adolescence. The story focuses on Alexandre’s stay with a wealthy Indian family, the Adivis, and especially on the relationships he develops with the grandmother of the family and with the adolescent daughter who is crippled by polio. That daughter, Anjali, is clever, well-read, and wants news of the wider world; she is also sad and feels left out of the world of love and passion. Their chaste relationship is misinterpreted, and separation is inevitable. But they always remember each other, as Alexandre goes back to France, his family, and his illustrious academic career, and Anjali goes on to become a political radical fighting for Indian independence. The story occasionally dips many years backward in time, and then many years forward, and touches on war, politics, culture, poetry, and much more. Despite the destruction and bloodshed of several wars, there is a thread of appreciation of life, love, and literature throughout. The story is told in an almost dreamy fashion. It is hard for me to know if readers who do not share my connection to the topics and settings of the novel would like it as much as I did. But I think that even aside from those connections, the novel would be of interest to many readers.

Finding a New Independent Bookstore Nearby!

It is always great to “discover” a new independent bookstore. In the Larkspur Landing area of Marin County, a couple of towns north of where I live, I noticed a new bookstore going up, and a few days ago, I saw it was open and went in. It is called DIESEL, and it is the newest branch of a mini-chain (as I have noted here before, to me a branch of a mini-chain still qualifies as an independent bookstore, and this store calls itself an independent bookstore) of, I believe, four branches, two in Northern California (the other one is in Oakland) and two in Southern California (Malibu and Brentwood). It presents itself on its website as having an “urban California aesthetic” and as “cutting-edge, high octane, community-radiating…” The metallic-colored exterior gives it an edgy look, and inside there are clean, open lines and spaces, but there is also, perhaps incongruously, a sort of cozy feel to the store. Because it is so new, I have the feeling it needs time to grow into itself. Meanwhile, I enjoyed their selection of books and other products (cards, etc.), and bought several items. The salespeople were friendly and helpful. It was rather quiet, but that could have been because it was New Year’s Eve Day. I really hope it will be successful. This shopping area (a kind of upscale shopping center next to the Ferry landing) was the site of one of my all-time favorite independent bookstores, A Clean Well Lighted Place for Books. I – and my family and friends – used to shop there, eat at its café, and occasionally hold our Reading Group meetings there. It was open for 20 years but, sadly, closed in 1998. I still remember it fondly. I doubt DIESEL will replace it, as it is much smaller and has a different “feel,” but I still welcome it. I am now adding it to my rotation of independent bookstores in San Francisco and Marin where I shop regularly.

"Benediction," by Kent Haruf

I was, some years ago, quietly bowled over by Kent Haruf’s 1999 novel “Plainsong.” I have now just listened to a CD of his newest novel, “Benediction” (Knopf, 2013; Books On Tape, 2013) and was quietly bowled over all over again. Both novels are set in a small town in Colorado, not in the mountains but in the flat lands. Both tell quiet stories of everyday life, of family, of community, of life and death and connection and integrity. Both stories are told simply, with little description, little explanation. Their very simplicity is what makes them so lovely, so graceful, and so real. The main focus of "Benediction" is the dying of hardware store owner Dad Lewis, and his loving wife Mary's and daughter Lorraine’s taking care of him at home in his last weeks. Neighbors, friends, employees, and a minister all support the family as they go through these last days. Dad is a good man, a man of integrity, but has not been able to understand his family and others as well as he now wishes he had; he now realizes he has been too rigid and judgmental to some people in his life. He has regrets about this, most especially about his estrangement from his son Frank, who is gay, and who escaped his family and small town years ago. There are a couple of other stories in the novel, all intertwined with the main story. But the plot is not really the main point here. The novel gives us a close-up experience of circumscribed but sturdy lives in a small town. We also realize that “circumscribed” is all relative: Dad at one point reflects that for him, getting off his family’s farm in Kansas as a young man and making a life for himself in a small town in Colorado was an opening up of his world. Small town people, and small town life, are not idealized here, and in some cases there is a sad intolerance of difference. But there is also a sense of people knowing how to keep going, one foot in front of the other, and to care about and take care of each other. We feel we know the characters, and admire them, despite their imperfections. And yes, there is a sense of “benediction” bestowed in and by this quiet, beautiful novel. I highly recommend it.

Books I Gave Family Members for Christmas

As I have mentioned more than once here, I do most of my holiday gift shopping in bookstores. Here is a look at what I gave some of my family members for Christmas this year. To my mother, to whom I love to give books, as she now has more time to read, and I know her taste, I gave “Someone,” by Alice McDermott; “This is the Story of a Happy Marriage,” by Ann Patchett; “Longbourn,” by Jo Baker; and “The Lowland,” by Jhumpa Lahiri. (Regular readers of this blog will note that I have posted on all four of these books within the past two months.) To one brother I gave Khaled Hosseini’s “And the Mountains Echoed,” and a vegan cookbook (he is vegan). To another brother, whose wife is Chinese and who has visited China, I gave Amy Tan’s newest novel, “The Valley of Amazement,” and -- because, like me, he loves San Francisco so much -- photographer/journalist Gary Kamiya’s “Cool Gray City of Love: 49 Views of San Francisco.” I loved this latter book so much that I also gave it to my daughter, who also dearly loves San Francisco and now lives in "The City" again. (I will very likely buy myself a copy as well). In addition, in a nod to her two years living in and thoroughly enjoying New York City, I gave my daughter “Humans of New York,” by photographer Brandon Stanton. I gave my daughter’s fiancé, who is a lawyer for a tech company, Dave Eggers’ novel “The Circle” (about a Facebook-type company) and Mark Binelli’s “The Afterlife of an American Metropolis,” about the city of Detroit (he spent part of his childhood and adolescence in a suburb of Detroit). This is a sampling of what I gave my family; I hope I chose well, and I hope my family members will enjoy these books. My mom tells me she has already started reading "Someone," and likes it very much.